


The Strength to Do It

by draculard



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Partial Mind Control, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Instead of killing Han, Kylo takes his anal virginity.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Han Solo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	The Strength to Do It

All his life, the voices in his head had whispered to him, telling him to give into his desires, to feed upon the power of the Dark Side. There were times when he thought he’d done just that: killing his classmates when he himself was just a boy; the civilians and innocents he’d slaughtered, the people he’d tortured; the death of one of Luke’s oldest friends, Lor San Tekka, at his hands  — all these seemed to Kylo Ren like moments so dark they could never be surpassed.

But now, staring at his father, he knew there was one more layer of darkness and desire he’d never dared to tap.

“Help me,” he said.

And voice trembling, eyes wet, Han said, “Anything.”

This was it. This was anything. Han went easily, allowing his son to guide him  — warm, broad hands on his waist, driving him down onto the floor of the Supremacy. Supine, Han stared up at the ceiling, his eyes wide and unseeing, as Kylo Ren set down his lightsaber and placed his knee between his father’s thighs.

Kylo traced his fingers over the buttons on Han’s shirt, allowing the Force to channel through him, to rend the cloth and expose Han’s bare chest. The laces on his trousers were next  — oil-stained material, the scent of the Falcon embedded in its fibers, parted under Kylo’s hands to reveal Han’s skin. 

The thatch of pubic hair. The soft cock lying limp against his thigh. It was no difficult task to peek inside Han’s mind, to see the emotions swirling through him, to see which particular feelings were swallowing up his thoughts. Fear and anguish  — humiliation, pain  —

And, inevitably, love.

Undeniably, arousal.

Kylo lowered himself, lying over his father, his chest to Han’s chest, his stomach to Han’s stomach, his cock straining hard against his trousers where Han’s lay soft and shriveled. The arousal was faint, more of an automatic reaction to exposure than anything else, but it was there. And if it was there  — Kylo knew this from Snoke  — it could be manipulated.

His lips found Han’s throat. He sucked at the pulse point, felt Han’s heartbeat against his tongue.

The arousal spiked. With a surge of the Force so natural it felt like instinct, Kylo grabbed a hold of that arousal and twisted.

Made it match his own.

Against him, Han’s cock twitched. 

“Good,” Kylo breathed, his voice so deep and thick with lust that this single word came out like a rumble of thunder against Han’s skin. “Good, you’re learning. We can make this easy.”

He pulled his gloves off with his teeth, put his bare hands on Han’s chest, wondered if Han could feel the calluses and poorly-healed cuts and burns marring Kylo’s fingers. He hoped he could; he hoped Han understood whose fault they were. He rested all his weight on Han’s chest and sat up, locking his hips together with Han’s, grinding their cocks together.

His eyes met Han’s. Kylo’s lips pulled up in a twitch.

“Do I really have my mother’s eyes?” he asked; he knew he did. He knew it was Leia’s warm, brown eyes staring back at Han. “Do I taste like her, too?”

Moaning, Han turned his face away, and Kylo let him. His fingers found Han’s nipples and twisted, aiming to bruise, aiming to hurt. With his mind inserted into Han’s like this, he could feel every spike of pain making Han’s nerve endings stand on end  — his own bruising touch, the cold durasteel floor digging into Han’s spine. All of it.

It was intoxicating. It was pure exhilaration.

It was power.

He shoved his trousers down one-handed, aided by the Force, and abandoned Han’s nipples to force his father’s thighs apart. His teeth found Han’s bare hip, biting down hard, drawing blood. The muffled cry this earned him was like music, like the chanting of a Sith choir.

He forced Han’s legs apart. He forced them up. He exposed the spot between Han’s legs that had never been opened to anyone, not even to Leia.

Their eyes met again; Kylo saw pleading, saw dismay, saw terror. He grasped hold of the thread of arousal in Han’s mind again, amplified it, watched Han’s cock swell flat against his stomach in response. Watched him bite his lip; watched him hold back a moan; watched tears spill from his eyes.

“You said anything,” Kylo reminded him with a shrug.

And, surrendering every last inch of himself to the Dark Side, Kylo pushed inside.


End file.
